On Top of Falling Tiles
by Tiamat's Child
Summary: It’s Sunday morning in Paris, and certain persons don’t want to get out of bed. JolyBossuetMusichetta


Title: On Top of Falling Tiles  
Author: Tiamat's Child  
Fandom: Les Miserables  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairings: Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta  
Summary: It's Sunday morning in Paris, and certain persons don't want to get out of bed.  
Disclaimer: See the pretty French people? They're public domain, but I didn't make them up, Victor Hugo did.

Notes: Written in 43 minutes for the 'if you tell anyone, I'll kill you' challenge at Contralemontre. Soon as I read the challenge the ending image popped into my head. Besides, it's fun to take a challenge that cries out for dark fic and write domestic fluff instead.

On Top of Falling Tiles

"We're out of food again." Bossuet called from the outer room.

"We can't be!" Musichetta said, reclaiming a fold of blanket from Joly and hiding her head under it. "It's too early to have to go shopping. So there must be some food."

Bossuet came back to the bedroom and smiled at the twin lumps of blanket. "I think that's not true, 'Chetta, though it would be nice if it was."

"I'm not shopping. It's Sunday. I have nowhere to be. I'm staying in bed." 

Joly extended a hand from the covers in order to wrap a bit of blanket more firmly around his shoulders. "I have a cold. Need rest." 

Bossuet shook his head slowly, still smiling. "I'm going to have to go buy us breakfast if I want to eat at all this morning, aren't I?"

"Could you get coffee while you're out?" Musichetta asked.

In all honesty Bossuet liked shopping. It wasn't so much the shopping itself that appealed to him, but he liked having enough money to buy his lovers a treat, and he liked knowing what they would get for themselves, if they were with him, and he liked having someone else to buy for. It made the whole exercise seem not at all lonely, which it could be at times. That was why Musichetta refused to do any shopping at all. It made her sad. 

Joly didn't normally mind, but trying to separate him from a warm bed when he was convinced he was ill and didn't have any classes was a lost cause. You stood a better chance of getting Enjolras to go a week without mentioning Rousseau. 

But Bossuet liked to shop, and, despite his somewhat weak protests, he liked going about looking for breakfast on early Sunday mornings. The bakerwomen smiled at him when he bought croissants from them, and called him a thoughtful lad when he told them that they were for his mistress. The world was light and airy, and still cold enough to tie a chilly knot in Bossuet's empty stomach. He liked that. There was something about it that reminded you that you were alive, no matter how unlucky you might be, and that, really, you had had extraordinary good fortune in finding two people you loved enough to run early morning errands for. 

When he came back to the flat he set his purchases out on the table and went to wake the sleepy heads. That was a good thing too. There was nothing quite like shaking someone awake and knowing you both had the privilege of doing so, and that, no matter how much they grumbled, they didn't really mind.

"Good morning, Musichetta," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her neck and make her shiver, "I got coffee for you."

"Coffee?" she said vaguely, turning her head to the side to let him get at more of her skin.

"Coffee, ready for you to come and make it. Or I could…"

"No!" she swung her feet around and sat up so fast she nearly smashed his nose, "No, no, no need."

"Are you sure?" he called after her, "I'm more than willing…"

"I haven't forgotten last time yet! I didn't know you _could_ burn coffee."

"It's a talent."

"One that _will_ go unpracticed in this household, thank you very much!"

Bossuet chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed to turn his attention to Joly. "Joly? I got breakfast."

"not getting up." 

"Oh, come now! I have croissants."

"…'sants?"

"And apples."

"apples?"

"Yes. Please wake, Joly. I'd quite like a morning kiss."

This last temptation was apparently too much for even a very strong willed young man, because Joly partly emerged from the covers and pulled Bossuet into a half awake kiss. 

Bossuet liked this, as well. There was little in his life that could match kissing Joly in their own bed, safe and warm and lazy. Perpetually on the verge of disaster he might be, but he did seem to have the most amazing good luck, in some ways.

"No fair." Musichetta protested from behind them. "I haven't had my morning kiss from him yet."

"She has a very good point, Bossuet. What do you think we should do?"

"Why, I don't know. It doesn't seem to be a solvable-"

And the rest of the tease was cut off as Musichetta pounced, kissing them both quickly to silence them. They tried to protest, and somehow the protest turned into a tussle, which turned into the inevitable laughing tangle of two boys and one girl, all kissing those they were closest to at the moment.

"We could skip breakfast." Joly pointed out, quickly, so as to be able to go back to kissing Musichetta's shoulder. 

"The coffee will get cold." Musichetta said, and that ended all discussion on the matter, for both Joly and Bossuet had lived with Musichetta long enough to know her opinions on the matter of coffee getting cold.

"I can't believe you'd pass up a pleasant tumble for hot coffee." Joly told Musichetta a few minutes later, as they sat and ate their breakfast.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you," she said, "It would quite ruin my reputation."

Bossuet smiled into his mug, and counted himself very, very lucky indeed.


End file.
